


Kiss Me Hello

by kehinki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dry Humping, Fluff, M/M, Platonic Kissing, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kehinki/pseuds/kehinki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve take to kissing each other hello, goodbye, goodnight. It's all very platonic until it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Hello

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for my own prompt that I left at a kink meme ages ago and can no longer find. Enjoy the fluff!

Bucky was ten and Steve was nine—and sporting a fresh black eye.

“It’s swollen,” he sulked, trying to open it to no avail. Bucky reached out to touch the skin of his eyelid and Steve didn’t flinch, let him do it because it only felt numb at that point.

“Yikes,” Bucky said. “Didja get the other kid back?”

“Yeah,” Steve lied. The other kid must’ve been at least twelve, and he’d knocked Steve over for a reason that didn’t quite make sense to him—called him a lazy bum for sitting around drawing when there was running around to do or something—and that had turned into a fight with punching and kicking and _hair pulling._ And Steve hadn’t even been the one doing the hair pulling.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked curiously, leaning down to peer into what was no doubt a mess of blue and purple and probably sickly yellow-green by now. He reached out to poke it again but Steve batted his hand away.

“Nah,” he answered. “Just feels all tough—and I can’t open my eye.”

He was grousing, he knew it; he was sitting on the steps like a bump on a log feeling angry and useless—he didn’t even _do_ anything this time to get on the other side of some jerk’s fist but his ma would instantly start worrying and thinking he’d gotten the shiner because he’d been mouthing off again.

He did mouth off, but that was _after_.

“You want me to knock him around a little for you?” Bucky was asking, like he was running some kind of racket. “I know you probably got him back good,” he added, with a curious pinch to his mouth, “but he’s got some nerve pushin’ you around like that—and getting your drawings all crumpled.”

“I said I took care of it, didn’t I?” he said, probably too gruffly. He knew the kid was two years older than Bucky and a lot bigger; if Bucky took a swing at him, he and Steve would have matching shiners and that was it.

Bucky raised his eyebrows and looked down at him kind of— _disapprovingly_ , like he was a grown-up and Steve was a ne’er-do-well—but then his lips quirked up in that bit-of-a-smile he always did, and he leaned in to…

To press his lips to Steve’s face, right in the middle of his busted up eye. He barely felt it; it was just Bucky’s hot exhale against his forehead and the barest touch of dry lips to his bruise.

It was a _kiss_ , like he thought Steve was a baby.

When Steve didn’t say anything for a while, Bucky probably thought he needed to fill up the silence. “You know, it’s… a kiss to make it better.” His whole face was going red up to the tips of his ears.

“I’m not a little kid, Buck.”

“I know!” Bucky said quickly. “But my ma still does it for me, so…” He was still so red, and now he was rubbing the back of his neck and Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I guess I feel a little better,” he said, if only to make Bucky feel less awkward about being such a _mom_. So long as he didn’t start spitting on his hand to wipe dirt off Steve’s face, he could handle it.

And maybe he honest-to-god really did feel a _little_ better.

 

* * *

 

Later, before Steve’s ma could hurry him off to bed or tell Bucky to get back home before dark, Steve decided he’d get Bucky back. Not that he resented the get-well kiss, but fair’s fair, and he wanted Bucky’s face to get all red again.

They were sitting together on Steve’s bed with an issue of Smilin’ Jack between them, and Bucky told him, “I better get home before supper’s cold. Or before Becca gets to it, she’s like a hoover.”

He gathered his coat and made to hop off the bed, so before he could, Steve turned his head and kissed him right on the nose. It was supposed to be his cheek but he hadn’t counted on Bucky’s head being turned, and it was a little late to do anything about it now, so he pretended like he meant to do it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Okay,” he said, trying extra hard to keep a straight face, “bye.”

For a few seconds, Bucky’s expression was perfectly blank, and Steve felt very, very silly. But then he smiled his little smile and rolled his eyes, reaching out to pinch Steve’s chin with his right hand and turn his head away. He then leaned in to press a dry, extra-fast peck on Steve’s cheek. “At least do it proper,” he said, pulling away and dropping his hand. He was smiling at him like he’d just won something, so just to be a jerk, Steve rubbed at his tingling cheek, wiping away the non-existent slobber.

“Bye, Steve!” Bucky said, hopping off the bed and making for the door, just as Steve’s ma came in, likely to shoo Bucky away for the night.

“Button up your coat!” she called after him as Steve sat frowning on the bed, feeling like maybe Bucky _did_ win some kind of contest between them.

“Steve, you’re red,” his ma said, walking up and placing the back of her hand on his forehead.

“I’m fine,” he said, ducking away and covering his face with a pillow.

 

* * *

 

He woke up, bundled himself up and headed off to Bucky’s place. Bucky, his siblings, and four neighbourhood kids all formed a little group and walked to school together, holding hands with the younger ones lest they bolt into the street or slip on a patch of black ice. Bucky’s ma pecked Steve on the forehead and, when no one’s looking, Bucky blew an exaggerated air kiss at him, but didn't actually touch him. They knew better than to act like babies in front of everyone else; the grown-ups wouldn’t coo over how cute they were but instead talk about how they needed to act their age.

So, Bucky blew his air-kiss and Steve stuck his tongue out at him and took Bobby’s hand, since he was only five and cried when he tripped and fell.

When he and Bucky part for their classes, Bucky thumped him on the back and told him to meet him by the swings later because they were going for a treat. He did that a lot, randomly decide it was time for a treat, when they could afford it (or, he thought guiltily, when they could sneak into something like a talkie). _We should both get a Frank’s Famous Frankfurter because it’s Monday and Mondays are terrible_ , Bucky would say. Or, _we should get Miss Martha to give us some of her cookies because it’s Friday and we should celebrate._ Today’s treat would no doubt be because Steve had just recently gotten a shiner and all his drawings had gotten rumpled.

So, afterschool, they stopped by Jerry’s little burger joint for milkshakes; chocolate for Bucky and vanilla for Steve (their mutual distaste for strawberry was just one of the many things that made their young friendship so solid). It didn’t matter that it was cold outside because milkshakes are always good, and there was enough dusty sunlight filtering through the windows to keep them warm.

Bucky was idly blowing into his straw and Steve watched the chocolate bubbles in his glass burst as he sipped on his own drink, kicking his feet out under the table and occasionally bumping them against Bucky’s shins.

An especially large chocolate bubble burst and hit the corner of Bucky’s mouth; Steve would’ve told him, but his mind concocted a plan, which he executed as soon as they were back outside.

After a quick look around, he leaned in to give Bucky a quick peck on the lips, right over his chocolate smudge.

Bucky’s face turned red like he’d hoped it would, but then he was pushing Steve against the wall, looking around them frantically. Steve felt the dirty brick scrape against his back as Bucky said, “You can’t just do that outside, stupid!”

Steve shrugged, and grinned because he was finally the put-together one, while Bucky was all nervous and worried. “I checked, no one’s around.”

“What was that even for?” Bucky asked. He had his fists on his hips, looking all disappointed but not mad.

Steve shrugged again. “I wanted to, dummy.”

“If the kids from school had seen that, they’d’ve made us eat dirt,” Bucky said, but he calmed, backing away.

Steve giggled—it was supposed to be a chuckle, but it came out a giggle—and moved in quick to kiss him again; Bucky moved away but Steve managed to peck him on the chin, while Bucky got him in a headlock and messed up his hair. Steve laughed, tickling and pinching Bucky’s sides as he tried to squirm away.

Bucky placed a kiss—more like a smooch—against Steve’s forehead and made an exaggerated _mmwah!_ sound.

Steve managed to escape and told Bucky he was _gross_.

But after that, it became a bit of a Thing.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew kissing each other’s hurts better was childish, and if anyone found out, both he and Bucky would be easy targets for mockery and scorn. He also knew boys just didn’t kiss each other—period. There was a reason Kiss Chase games always had either the girls trying to plant one on the boys or the boys trying to smooch the girls; if a boy were to ever go around and kiss another boy, they’d neither win nor lose. There was just no point to it.

But there was kind of a point to kissing Bucky bye or hi or even just hugging him in greeting. It felt nice and Bucky seemed to like it enough too, and by this point it was basically _habit_ , and those are notoriously hard to break.

So when he had to run back home to help him ma with supper, he’d hug Bucky tight and Bucky’s dad would laugh, say _it’s not like you’ll never see him again._ Sometimes the neighbour ladies, particularly Miss Clara, gave him a tap on the head as she walked by, saying, _boys your age aren’t clingy._

Which was fair enough; boys their age _weren’t_ clingy. The only time they touched each other was for roughhousing, and sure, Bucky and Steve did plenty of that too (they were quite normal in that regard, Steve thought) but they also made up for it with nicer touches, and if anything, that felt like the _grown up_ thing to do. When a kid fell down on the baseball diamond and scraped up his knees, the other kids would laugh at him. When it happened to Bucky, Steve would just brush his lips against the injury, not making fun, just being nice.

He’d stake out the perimeter like he was some kind of detective, make sure no one was looking and give Bucky a kiss on the cheek before saying hi. And Bucky would do likewise, and they wouldn’t get caught, and no one would tell them off for acting like little kids, and no one would tell them off for being perverts.

Perverts—that was another thing Steve learned about, a few years later. He knew by now that some fellas kissed fellas and that those fellas were distinctly the Wrong Kind to convene with, but he contended himself with this information by simply ignoring it. It wasn’t as if they ever did anything _bad_. Just cuddles, hugs, kisses. Innocent stuff. Habitual stuff.

“Do you know what an Eskimo kiss is?” a sixteen-year-old Bucky asked as he fell face first onto Steve’s ma’s couch. “Amy Carlton showed me.” And he grinned as if Eskimo kisses _weren’t_ the most chaste things ever, and were instead something dirty. “I figure they gotta kiss like that up there ‘cause of the cold—makes their lips all dry and chapped.”

Steve doubted that, but he knew Bucky didn’t believe it either; sometimes he just liked to talk nonsense.

“They’re nice, I guess, but a little goofy. C’mere, lemme show you.”

“I don’t wanna rub your fat nose,” Steve said mildly from his perch at the kitchen table.

“Yeah, _my_ nose is the fat one,” Bucky said, scoffing. “You know,” he said, letting his arm fall of the couch, and letting that big, dopey grin settle back onto his face, “I got to necking with Amy.”

Steve didn’t care much about Amy and Bucky’s adventures in necking and was instead much more focused on the seemingly impossible math homework scattered over the table.

But of course, Bucky would tell him anyway. “She was wearing real bright lipstick and I’m not sure if you’ve ever tasted lipstick, but pal, it’s not pleasant. The thing to do at first is to kiss with as much spit as possible—”

“Oh, for Chrissake.”

“—not like a slobbering dog or anything, just enough to wipe that stuff off. She didn’t mind, just thought I was eager.” He paused, lazily brushing his knuckles over the floor. His smile was far away, all caught up in the memory. “But I guess I _was_ pretty eager.” He turned onto his back, swinging his legs over the head of the couch so that he was looking at Steve upside down. “She was real soft Steve, like… Not like Angela, since she was all pointy elbows, like you. All of Amy was soft.”

 _What a sap_ , Steve thought as he focused on his math. It was kind of endearing but he was still a _sap_ , the kind of sap who fell in love three times a week.

He didn’t hear Bucky get up or pad his way over to him, because the next time Steve looked up, Bucky was right there next to him, a hand resting on the smooth grain of the back of Steve’s chair.

Bucky leaned down and touched the tips of their noses together. He shook his head, giving Steve a proper Eskimo kiss.

Steve wrinkled his nose when he pulled back. “It’s alright, I guess, if you’ve both got food in your mouths.”

“No, you think it’s cute, you just won’t admit it. If you saw a couple all huddled up on a park bench kissing like that, you’d think it was cute.”

“I wouldn’t think it was anything,” he said, curling his shoulders inwards and staring steadfastly at this homework.

“Do you need help with that?” Bucky said, nodding to his notebook, covered in eraser shavings.

Steve did need help. And when they were done and Bucky decided to call it a night, Steve swung his arms around Bucky’s neck and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. Bucky’s lips were soft and warm, but Steve knew his own were chapped and dry, nothing at all like Amy’s.

“Goodnight,” he said, and Bucky swung an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close.

“’Night,” Bucky said, smiling open mouthed against his cheek, teeth catching on skin, his breath warm and wet. Steve’s face tingled and a second later, Bucky was out the door.

 

* * *

 

A couple years later, Bucky got his first job. Well, his first _proper_ job. For a few years the two of them were newspaper boys, and sometimes they’d do the odd chores around Miss Martha’s shop, or at Bucky’s Aunt Nancy’s diner. For a while, Bucky had been helping his dad make deliveries but now he’d gotten some bookkeeping job—full-time.

(Sitting behind a desk didn’t seem like the ideal place for Bucky to be in Steve’s books, but he _did_ have a head for numbers.)  

“We’re going out!” Bucky had said, nearly tripping over his own feet. He rushed over, planted his hands on the sides of Steve’s face and peppered him with a dozen kisses, on his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, mouth. He hopped on the spot for a second like he didn’t know what to do with himself, and then pulled Steve close, hugging him so hard Steve thought he felt his lungs flatten as all the air left him. Thankfully, a moment later, he released him.

“I asked Carol to come—you remember her. But she’s gone over to her cousin’s for a birthday party, so.” He was nearly vibrating, so happy, so _excited_ , with a grin like sunrise, bright and beautiful.

It was the beginning of March—a few days before Bucky’s birthday—and the weather was already warm enough to go without their stuff coats and heavy boots; Steve threw a sweater over his shirt and made for the door.

They went to the boardwalk because Bucky insisted he had extra cash and Steve figured that even if he were lying, he’d start making some money soon anyway. The boards were rain-slick, the dark brown wood reflecting the blinking lights of the attractions above it. There was a new display featuring a 100 Ton Captive Whale but it was closed—so they stuck to more familiar things, starting with a ride on the Wonder Wheel.

“Don’t rock the carriage,” Steve warned before boarding.

“I won’t,” Bucky said, hand to his heart.

He did, though. As soon as their slow ascent to the top had ended, he leaned his weight back a little, letting the carriage sway—not too hard, just enough to get a scowl from Steve.  “Rides are boring if you’re not a little scared,” Bucky told him.

“This isn’t a scare-type ride,” Steve retorted, taking in the view—a view he’d seen a million times but would never get sick of. Luna Park was glowing, and he could hear the general ruckus from below—showmen, salesmen, laughter, loud, uninhibited conversation and the distant screams from the Cyclone.

The breeze off the ocean did make him wish he’d brought a thicker sweater, though, at least until Bucky threw an arm around him. Steve leaned back against Bucky’s warm, solid bulk.

“Do you know how many girls I’ve brought up here?” he said, ruining the moment.

“Twelve,” Steve said, because he sometimes had a knack for numbers too.

Bucky blinked at that. “Sure. Twelve.” And when Steve turned, Bucky was grinning at him, his face an inch away, moonlight reflecting off the white of his teeth. “And do you wanna know what we did?”

Steve made a face. “Knowing you, you probably said something about how they were prettier than the moon, and maybe some stuff about if they _wanted_ , you’d break the stars off the sky for ‘em—string ‘em into a necklace—”

“No, genius, a necklace of stars would burn like fuck.” He closed his eyes and leaned close so that his lips brushed the shell of Steve’s ear. “But you got my number on the moon thing,” he said, leaning in to scrape his teeth against Steve’s ear before latching onto the lobe and tugging. It was—nice. Nice to focus on Bucky’s hot breath instead of the chill that had settled into the rest of his body. “Jesus, your skin’s cold. Like an icebox.”

Steve leaned over to place his freezing cold hand on Bucky’s throat.

Bucky’s yelp was funny, but his jump was definitely not because that _really_ got the carriage rocking.

“We should sell you to the freak show down there,” Bucky said, recovering. He took both of Steve’s hands in his own. “The boy with no blood at all, cut him up and he’ll bleed ice water.” He brought Steve’s hands to his face and exhaled hot breath over his fingers.

Bucky’s breath tickled and Steve grinned, curling his fingers so Bucky could press his lips against his knuckles, kiss him there.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Steve said as they began their descent. The were a few halts as the ride operator ushered others out of the lower carriages, and Bucky took advantage, leaning over to rest his head against Steve’s, knowing full well the weight was uncomfortable, and if he kept it up, Steve would elbow him off.

“We’ll go to the beer gardens,” Bucky said, his words wafting up in a hazy mist as the night’s chill became denser. “Warm you up that way. Then we’ll get some food, call it a night.”

Steve pressed his lips together, trying not to show that he was _too_ pleased. It seemed Bucky didn’t intend to find them dates tonight and that it would only be the two of them, which was—rare. Bucky could always find a date if he wanted one, and there wasn’t any reason for him to ever not want one. Except, of course, for tonight, where the buzz of a new job and the cold air under his skin seemed to be enough.

Bucky turned his head into Steve’s neck. “Beer gardens for sure,” he mumbled. “I’ll get us the pricey brand.”

It was a plan; as soon as they exited the carriage, Bucky took him by the wrist and dragged him along to the flashing marquee of the gardens. Steve knew how it would go: Bucky would drink until he was warmed up and then drink a couple more, whereas Steve would nurse a single drink and it’d give him enough of a buzz to last him the night (because he was a lightweight and if he hadn’t seen his own blood numerous times, he’d think Bucky was on to something with his water-in-the-veins theory).

When the smell of alcohol was heavy on Bucky’s breath, he turned the tables and grabbed Bucky by his lapel, dragging him over to Nathan’s for frankfurters, one each like always, even though Bucky probably had room for a half dozen. They were crisp and greasy, and Steve was grinning up at the grey sky, feeling at peace with the world. He had a buzzing head, a full stomach and Bucky’s warm hand against his back.

“It’s starting to rain,” Bucky said into Steve’s hair. Steve could feel the smallest of droplets hit his nose. It would be a drizzle, just a misty spray. Bucky hummed, grabbed at Steve’s hand and twirled him around. “God, this _job_ ,” he said, grinning, seemingly remembering why they were out celebrating in the first place. “I would work and slave the whole day through,” he sang, “if I could hurry home to—”

“Shut up,” Steve laughed, covering his mouth. Bucky licked his palm because he was a jackass, but Steve kept it there until he knew for certain the impulse to sing had passed.

“If I could hurry home to you,” Bucky finished anyway. He was close, he was always close, smelling like booze and ocean salt and skin and soap.

They tottered home under the glow of the lampposts, coats over their heads to avoid the rain, and hands clutching at each other’s arms.

Steve collapsed on his bed that night feeling much warmer than the weather permitted, his cheeks aching from smiling. And Bucky collapsed on top of him, practically crushing him.

“You’re heavy,” Steve grunted, trying to nudge him off. He snorted a laugh when Bucky nuzzled his neck in response.

“What’s it like sleeping under a winner?” Bucky asked, speaking into Steve’s skin.

“What’s it like sleeping on top of ninety pounds of pointy bones?” Steve retorted.

“’S’nice,” Bucky mumbled, closing his eyes. “’Least you’re warm now.”

Steve fell asleep to the pitter-patter of rain and to the sound of Bucky’s soft snoring.

 

* * *

 

He awoke to the sensation of Bucky sleepily mouthing at his jaw.

“’Morning,” he said.

“Mghm,” Bucky replied.

“Big day today. First day on the job.”

“Mm. Y’should make me breakfast,” and Steve leaned down to press his lips to his forehead, right at the hairline.

“Okay,” he said, wriggling out from under him. The morning chill hit him hard and he looked back to the bed—and Bucky—longingly but he grit his teeth and wandered over to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Bucky shoveled down Steve’s eggs and toast, drank his watery coffee in three gulps, and rushed out the door, but not before giving Steve a quick kiss on the lips.

“Feel like a housewife,” Steve grumbled and Bucky must’ve caught it because even halfway down the hall, he barked out a laugh.

Steve left to do his paper route. It was still raining from last night, but very lightly, the tiny droplets clinging to the hairs on his hands like dew on grass. If Bucky were still doing routes with him, he’d kiss them away because he loved that kind of thing, loved sucking the water off Steve’s cold-pinked skin.

He first delivered a rolled up paper to Miss Martha—now misses, he supposed—who had icing in her wispy black hair and gave him a brownie like he was still a small child instead of a grown man. The ache in his back lessened along with the weight of the papers in his bag, and finally he was at the Cheung’s place with the last of them.

“Got your cartoons published in one of these yet?” Mrs. Cheung asked and Steve shook his head no. “One of these days, you will!” she told him.

And that was all. Three hours worth of work and the rest of the day would be spent doing odd jobs for neighbours, but Steve happened to pass a damp alleyway, saw a kid no older than sixteen pressed up against a wall, trembling, as a much larger, older man towered above him, saying, “ _The hell were you lookin’ at, you little shit_?” before socking him in the jaw.

Steve limped home, banged up and sore, but the kid got away, so it was still a victory.

When Bucky got home, though, he took one look at Steve and said, “You moron.”

“It was for a good reason,” Steve told him without looking up from his book. “How was your first day?”

“First day was swell, it’s like pennies from heaven how easy it was. But your day seems to have ended with you getting your face punched in and—lemme guess. He’s a lot worse off than you are.” He shrugged off his coat and hung up his hat. “Did he disrespect a lady or something?”

“Nah,” Steve said, not wanting to get into it. In his book, the countess had learned morse code and was stealthily tapping it into her wineglass, hoping her lover realized there was danger afoot. Steve would much rather focus on that.

Bucky was lifting one of his hands, rubbing his thumb over the split knuckles. “Hope the fucker got what was coming to him,” he said.

Steve quirked his mouth into a tired little smile. “I got a few solid hits in. Made him spit blood.”

“Why, Steve,” Bucky said, moving his mouth to Steve’s wrist, “that’s positively vicious of you. Smilin’ at a man’s pain.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t happy about it too.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just crawled over him to kiss the fingerprint bruises at his neck. His lips tingled against Steve’s skin and something settled heavily at the bottom of Steve’s gut. Something warm. “If I was there, I’d’ve made it so he pissed blood for a week.”

“Now who’s vicious,” Steve said, honestly a little appalled. Bucky continued to kiss away his hurts, his lips almost unbearably gentle on Steve’s hypersensitive skin. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Oh, I’m not done,” he said, raising his eyebrows, smirking. “I’ve gotta assess the damage.” He tugged Steve’s shirt out of his pants, pushed it up and out of the way. Steve’s stomach quivered as Bucky lightly pressed his thumb to a particularly large bruise.

They didn’t really… they didn’t do this. He’d seen Bucky naked plenty of times, sure, but they never purposefully tried to see skin, not even as curious kids because that was Wrong. But now Bucky was unabashed, probably high on the giddiness of an honest day’s pay, and he was touching Steve with fingers that trembled in a mix of delight and reverence. Bucky, with his perfect, muscled, tall body, wanting to glide his hands over Steve’s far less impressive form.  

He leaned down and placed his lips over Steve’s sternum and moved down, and Steve laughed—couldn’t help it, he was ticklish and Bucky knew it; he was doing it on purpose, dragging his fingers down all the sensitive spots.

He trailed lower, kissing over his navel, and Steve idly carded his hands through Bucky’s slicked up hair, ruining it.

And then—and then Bucky tugged down his pants, just a little, and kissed a scratch on Steve’s boney hip.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat and Bucky froze. He was breathing hard; Steve could tell by the way he practically panted over his skin, and Steve’s whole body was on _fire_ , tingling like Bucky was touching everything all at once.

This was different.

Bucky sat up and so did Steve, and they stared at each other wide-eyed.

A cursory glance downwards told him Bucky was _hard_ , which wasn’t so much surprising as it was a relief because Steve was halfway there himself.

“Uh…” Bucky said, “do you… are you feeling better?”

His hair was sticking up every which way and his face was red up to the tip of his ears and his pants were tented and Steve wanted to laugh in his face but also kiss the life out of him—not like their usual kisses, either. He wanted to taste him, wanted to lick his mouth open and his chest tightened at the thought of it, like an asthma attack, a cloud of dust swirling in his lungs, but far more terrifying. He’d never quite thought about the two of them together like this, it was too fantastical a notion to even entertain, but with startling clarity, he realized he wanted Bucky Barnes with every thrumming fibre of his being.

Bucky’s tongue darted out to lick his lower lip and, well, that decided that. Steve tugged him forward by his collar and slotted their lips together, open-mouthed for the first time ever.

His heart was racing a mile a minute, and if it weren’t for Bucky’s hands moving to settle on his waist, he probably would’ve tipped right over. The only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, and the only thing he could feel was the heat unfurling in his groin and the spit-slick softness of Bucky’s lips against his. He’d never kissed anyone properly before, had no idea what to do, but after a moment—or maybe several moments—Bucky moved his mouth, sucked on Steve’s upper lip.

Their mouths moved against each other, gliding easily, and it felt a little _slimy_ but even that was pleasant. His whole torso tingled where it was in contact with Bucky’s and when Bucky darted his tongue out and touched Steve’s, his mind whited out for a long second. He _moaned_.

Bucky moved his mouth to Steve’s cheek, laughing softly. “You sure know how to flatter a fella,” he said, before kissing him again, with gusto, moving a hand to the back of Steve’s heated neck to drag him close, like he wanted to eat Steve whole.

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there kissing but soon enough, Bucky had pushed him onto his back and crawled over him. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve arched up, grinding their erections together.

Bucky _growled_ and bit down into Steve’s already bruised lip and, embarrassingly, Steve came in his pants, just like that. Bucky rutted down onto him, hard, sucking more bruises into Steve’s skin as Steve twitched from the aftershocks of his orgasm, lying limp like a ragdoll.

Half a minute later, Bucky ground his hips down onto Steve one last time and groaned as he came before collapsing onto him, the couch squeaking in protest.

Once his frantic heart began to slow and the adrenalin of the situation wore down, Steve began to wonder why it took so long for him to kiss Bucky like that in the first place. Bucky was the only one he’d ever _wanted_ to kiss, and if he’d known it felt so _good_ …

“Wow,” he panted, “I feel a lot better. I’m cured. Nice work.”

Fear crept up his throat like bile when Bucky remained silent. But after a few seconds, he felt him shake—he was chuckling against Steve’s chest. “Thanks, pal, means a lot.”

“We should do it again some time,” Steve ventured.

“We should do it all the time.”

“That seems to be a well-advised course of action, yes.”

Bucky crawled up his body to nose at his throat. “But first I guess I gotta take you on the Wonder Wheel, tell you you’re beautiful like the moon.”

“If you must,” Steve said, laughing a little hysterically, unable to believe this was his life.

They pawed at each other some more, exploring uninhibitedly, before falling asleep right there on the couch, forgetting all about the dinner Steve had planned.

 

* * *

 

“’Morning,” Bucky said, mouthing at his jaw. That wasn’t anything new.

The hand palming him through his pants, however, definitely was.

Steve squinted against the early morning sunlight, stared at the rainbows refracted on his eyelashes before getting an eyeful of Bucky’s grinning face. He shifted his leg between Bucky’s thighs, letting him thrust his (hard) length against him if he wanted to (which he very much did).

“What’s it like sleeping on top of a winner?” Steve asked.

“Pal, in this situation, I can safely say we both win,” Bucky replied with the dopiest grin Steve had ever seen.


End file.
